


make friends, make money, make love, make peace with age

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Domestic, Double Dating, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Feminist Themes, Found Family, Furniture, Growing Up, Queer Themes, Roller Derby, Team, Team as Family, quarter life crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of Samantha Gagner, roller girl and actual adult, who doesn’t hate her job, doesn’t hate her sofa, and doesn’t have a boyfriend in Long Island. What she does have is friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make friends, make money, make love, make peace with age

**Author's Note:**

> I love roller derby as a casual fan, and I’m almost certain that derby isn’t usually set up the way I’ve written about it here. Also, this story doesn’t really explain how derby works, because I don’t feel like that’s something I could explain. I’m pretty sure you don’t need to know anything about roller derby to read this, but if you want some information check this out. If there’s derby stuff that’s wrong I’m sorry, but this isn’t really a story about sports, it’s a story about friends (and furniture).
> 
> This story is an AU. At no point did I look at last year’s nhl schedule. For reasons that will be obvious, the draft couldn’t happen the same way in real life, which has altered the composition of the Oilers. I think the changes I made are pretty reasonable, but mostly it was about getting the characters I wanted to use. 
> 
>  
> 
> The soundtrack is [here.](http://bestliar.dreamwidth.org/17320.html)
> 
> This is the longest fic I’ve ever written. I’ve been working on it for a very long time. Stellarer has been incredibly enthusiastic the whole time, finishing with a wonderful beta job. She made me want to write this story, and she made this story better. <3

**“Failure preserves some of the wondrous anarchy of childhood and disturbs the supposedly clean boundaries between adults and children, winners and losers.”**

_The Queer Art of Failure_ by J. Halberstam

**X**

At twenty-two Sam’s a bit surprised to realize her life is made up of things she hadn’t exactly planned on doing. When she moved to Edmonton for school she hadn’t planned on staying in the city past graduation. She hadn’t planned on joining a roller derby team either, but that’s what she did, and it’s been good to her, bringing her some ridiculous and awesome friends. It may not be a life she planned for, but she’s pretty okay with it.

She turns twenty-two in August, just as the summer ends. The season changes before she has a chance to settle into the number. Fall used to mean starting new classes and settling in after spending the summer away. Now she’s an actual adult with a day job. Now the only thing she has to look forward to is derby starting up again, which is unquestionably the best part of autumn.

This will be Sam’s fifth year playing with the Oil Babes. She’s always known it was a stupid name, but she stopped caring ages ago. It’s her team, and her team’s ridiculous name. They wouldn’t be able to pull off a proper threatening badass derby team name anyway. The Oil Babes are her people, and they’re wonderful, but they aren’t exactly great at roller derby. They’re good enough—there isn’t much disparity in the league—but they have a reputation for losing. This year they’ll be better. Hopefully. Sam is good at hoping.

The leaves change colors, the air gets colder, and it’s time to start practicing. Sam still hangs out with the team during the off season, because that’s what friends do, which means she hasn’t really missed them; she has missed skating with intent.

Sam grew up skating, on ice, and flat track isn’t really close to the same thing, but she sees it all as part of a continuum. She had an ice rink in her backyard growing up, which led to playing hockey with neighbor kids, one of whom turned into future NHL first overall draft pick John Tavares. When they Sam and John faced each other as kids she would win more often than not. They even got into fights a few times, and she always won those, and not just because of John’s reluctance to hit a girl.

Sam could have stuck with hockey. Her little sister did, and is playing in college now. Sam could have followed that path, but she didn't.

Which is whatever.

Sam has a liberal arts degree, and a job, and a roller derby team. She’s fine. 

She has derby, and it’s basically the best. The transition from hockey to derby made sense to her. Like hockey, derby is physical. She’s found that succeeding at hockey and derby both require balance, speed, and a willingness to sacrifice your body. 

Eager to get a jump on the season, Sam shows up to practice, but she isn’t the first one there. Taylor and Jordan are pulling each other around around the floor and generally being adorable about each other. Sam is really glad they’ve finally gotten their shit together. Sometimes being on a team with a super coupley couple is annoying, but it had been ten times worse when they hadn’t known they were a couple.

Towards the center of the room Shawna is getting things set up, telling Jamie where to place the cones, and generally playing team mom. She says that they give her more grey hairs than her actual children, but whatever, she loves them. She brings them brownies sometimes. If she really minded putting up with them then she wouldn’t have agreed to be the captain.

Sam’s happy to see familiar faces, and equally excited to spot one new addition. The league divvies up their fresh blood every year, and the Oil Babes had very little turnover, keeping close to a twenty woman roster. They only had one space to fill, which must belong to the unfamiliar girl sitting against the wall.

The new girl is tall, really tall, tall enough to make Sam especially envious because she’s really short. The girl is precariously tall, and gawky too, while somehow still athletic. She looks like someone Sam could be friends with, but Sam’s generally a friendly person so that isn’t saying much.

Shawna sees everything, and when she catches Sam staring, her captain says, “Go talk to the new girl. She’s quiet; it’s nice.”

“I’m quiet,” Sam says. That’s true, Sam is quiet, relatively. It’s still an order she wants to follow. She walks over there and sits on the floor to lace her skates up. She waits for the younger girl to say something, but that doesn’t happen.

Quiet is the right word.

It’s okay though, Sam is an adult with social skills, she can start a conversation. 

The new girl’s name is Ryan. It’s short for something, but she won’t say what, even when Sam asks twice. It’s the only break in her shell of polite shyness.

Sam quickly realizes that it is easier to fill the air with her own words than it is to pull words from the new girl, who is so quiet, quiet and shy, and very young.

Sam was that young not too many years ago, but it feels far away.

Shawna calls them together to say a few words, then they're off. They're skating, falling in step, staying together as a team. This is where Sam belongs.

**X**

Life takes on a rhythm that mimics the push and glide of their skate stride. Sam gets through her day, then she's free to practice or hang out with her team. They’re good, her people, even when they’re annoying. If everything in her life was as good as the people on her team then her life would be incredible.

Only not everything is anywhere close to that good. Her job, for instance, leaves a lot to be desired.

On paper it’s a good job. It isn’t terrible, it just isn’t great. It’s benign. She likes it because they pay her, and because it doesn’t follow her home, but it’s the opposite of fulfilling.

She works for a gallery that wants to be a museum but might as well be called a gift shop. They deal with a lot of antiques and outsider art. Theoretically her degree in Anthropology is not completely irrelevant, but it never seems to come up. Her job description is incredibly vague. It involves paperwork, and sometimes answering the phone. Her boss is nice, but distracted. Sometimes she has Sam write the little cards that explain the pieces, which doesn’t always go well. Sam really thought that rock was part of the exhibit, not a doorstop.

When Sam started the job right after graduation she loved how she never had to think about it except for when she was actually working. After being a student it was a brand new way of life. Now it’s boring.

Practice is good though. Even when it’s exhausting, it means something. They’re practicing to get better, to win games. Sam is working only because work is a thing she is supposed to do.

At the last practice before their season opener Sam complains about not having any food in her apartment, because Sam is not actually a responsible adult. This complaint leads to an adventure: grocery shopping with Taylor, because Taylor likes grocery shopping and volunteers to come along.

Volunteer may be too mild of a word. Taylor insists on it; Sam doesn’t have any say in the matter. It’s alright though, because Taylor is a grocery shopping pro. Taylor picks things off the shelves while Sam trails behind her, pushing the cart.

Taylor understands how the grocery story works in a way that Sam does not. She leads them down aisles that Sam has always overlooked, revealing the source of salad dressing and the type of juice that doesn’t come from the refrigerator section.

“So, you get groceries a lot?” Sam asks, hoping to drown out the inane pop music drifting from the rafters.

“Yeah, it’s a division of labor thing,” Taylor says. “Jordan’s good at laundry and cooking and stuff so I go to the store.”

“And that works?” It all sounds so responsible; it sounds like something someone's parents would come up with.

“Yeah, it works fine. Mostly, anyway. I’m a lot messier than Jordan, but, eh. We manage?”

And they do. Sam has seen evidence of these young women managing. It doesn’t make her feel inadequate in the least.

They get to the freezer section and Sam wishes she was wearing another layer. Taylor looks plenty warm in a hoodie with EBERLE lettered across the back.

Taylor looks down into the frozen foods case skeptically. “Do you know how to cook fish?” She asks.

“No?” Sam could probably figure it out, but it isn’t anything she does regularly.

“Me neither,” Taylor confesses, “but Jordan does, and she cooks them for me. It’s amazing, you’d be lucky to eat dinner at our place.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “I was over last week. We played video games and you offered me cereal.”

“Jordan had class that night, it soooo doesn’t count.”

Taylor steers them onto baked goods.

“Jordan and I should invite Ryan to dinner—to a nice dinner. That would be teamly of us,” Taylor says. “Jordan could grill salmon and asparagus and it would be amazing. I just don’t want to spook her.”

“Ryan’s a nice girl,” Sam says. “She doesn’t need the two of you messing around with her.”

“We’re just going to try to be her friends,” Taylor says. “That’s good, right?”

Friends are great.

“Just... be careful, alright?” Sam says. Friends are the greatest; there should be a lot of care involved in the keeping of friends. Sometimes Taylor charges into things, which doesn’t always work well. Sam reminding her to be careful is good for all of them. This reminder is one small way that Sam can take care of her friends. 

She leaves the store with fresh produce, frozen dinners, cereal, and five boxes of Kraft Dinner. Trusting Taylor Hall to choose her groceries works out surprisingly well.

**X**

They lose their first match of the season, but it’s still a fun night. There’s good music between bouts, and they go out to the bar afterwards. It’s good to go out as a team, to drink and hang and talk about how great it is that the season’s starting. Even though their season didn’t begin the way they may have wanted it to, they aren’t particularly worried, it’s only the first bout. There’s plenty of time left for them to do better.

While Sam loves her whole team there are some internal divides. The women with husbands and kids have more to say to each other than they do to the girls who are less tied down. They’re all still friends, but not in the same way. It’s kind of a big sister thing, only Sam is an older sister, and knows it isn’t the same. She enjoys looking at pictures of Darcy’s kid, but she has more to say about Taylor’s decision to be a Geography major. Whitney Ryan and Jamie are kind of in the middle; Jamie because she doesn’t have kids yet, but she does have a Swedish teenager staying in her spare room; Whits because she is older while still being what Taylor loving calls “a loose woman.”

Whitney is responsible for handing out derby names. Whoever was responsible for delegating that task should be shot. Whits decided that Ryan should be called Bambi, because she “looks like a stupid adorable baby deer,” an observation Sam can’t disagree with, even as she doesn’t love the name.

Sam’s own nom de skate is, embarrassingly, “Samwise the Brave.” It isn’t Sam’s fault that she’s short, and Whits should never have been allowed to watch Lord of the Rings. Jordan is “the Queen of Manners,” in honor of her polite nature, as well as serving as a sideways shout out to her hometown. Taylor has the best name, “Spitfire Cannonball,” because she charges into things and reminds Whits of a fighter plane from the second World War. It’s a decent name, and makes the rest of their monikers seem even worse in comparison.

The absence of proper threatening badass derby names is another way for the Oil Babes to flaunt their failure. They have a terrible team name, and a roster full of terrible player names. They share colors with a hockey team that loses a lot, and they lose a lot themselves. Bad roller derby names aren’t a real problem, but it is symptomatic of their overall issues. Whoever decided that Whits gets to name people should be ashamed of themselves.

(It doesn’t matter that they have dumb names, not really, because their names are special, like they’re spies, like they’re in a gang. They’re a team, whether they’re winning or losing they have each other’s backs, that’s what matters.)

**X**

Sam gets a new project at work. She has to call all of the people who have given them money in the past to ask if they will give more money now. She does not enjoy this task. If she had money to give away she wouldn’t give it to this place; yeah, they’re a nonprofit, and yeah, they do some cool stuff, kind of, but they aren’t changing the world. If she had money to give away she would want it to go feed children or fight disease.

Begging for money reminds her how trivial her job is on some level. She isn’t creating anything, and she isn’t changing anything.

She’s making phone calls. She has spreadsheets about funding. They’re pretty shitty spreadsheets. She never learned how to use Excel in college; there isn’t much need for organized tables in anthropology.

The good thing about her job is that it doesn’t follow her home. She goes to practice and the only time work comes up is when she wants to complain.

She doesn’t complain about her job at practice because that means she would have to listen attentively when other people complain.

Maggie is in town, so she’s at practice. Maggie a journalist for a website in Sweden, and gets sent to wherever newsworthy things are happening. Apparently newsworthy things happen around Edmonton, because Maggie’s around fairly often. Maybe they have different opinions about what qualifies as newsworthy in Sweden.

Maggie is a good example of why Sam does not complain about her job during practice. Compared to what’s on Maggie’s radar Sam’s misery is ridiculously inconsequential.

Maggie follows world events, global banking, international tragedies, and natural disasters. She documents all of the frightening current events that Sam tends to tune out, choosing to focus on derby and stupid life things instead. If Sam were to complain to Maggie she would have to hear about the whole wide world. Edmonton isn’t the world. Canada isn’t the world. The world is big and scary; it could eat Sam up.

Sam is torn between wanting to confront the whole big world and wanting to burrow under her covers. Some days she wants to stare down problems and make the world a better place, but that sounds hard. More often she is happy to not look past the little adventures of herself and her friends. They’re entertaining enough.

For example, the future Mrs and Mrs Hall-Eberle do invite Ryan over for dinner. Sam considers herself fortunate to only hear about it secondhand, but Ryan claims to have a good time.

“They’re very nice,” she tells Sam before practice the next day. After a moment she corrects herself. “Only not really?” Ryan says. “They have excellent intentions.”

That’s true enough. It’s also the most words Sam’s heard the younger girl say in a row, and that kind of talk deserves positive reinforcement.

“Absolutely.” Sam says. “They’re trying, but sometimes they’re still terrible. I think it’s because of all the couple speak. They’d be nicer if we could understand what they were saying.”

Ryan shrugs. “They’re them. It works.”

They have to drop the topic then because Shawna’s shouting at them to get on their feet already. It’s time to practice, so they can get better and win the next match.

**X**

They lose their second match too, but it’s a better effort. It’s a closer game and they feel like they’re giving their all. Effort, not outcome, right?

They go to the bar afterwards, because that’s how life works. The Oilers game is on TV because that’s how Edmonton works. The whole team teases Jamie about her husband’s hair, because that is the reasonable response to Ryan Jones’ flow.

Taylor is the most enthusiastic sort of sports nut. She played everything growing up and now she has roller derby, and soccer in the summer, plus golf, and rabidly follows a handful of other sports too. Her dad played in the CFL, and was on the Olympic bobsled team. Last year they bonded over the total weirdness of having a professional athlete as a parent.

Taylor is babbling about hockey stats, talking loudly about everything that’s happening on the ice; Jordan’s listening attentively. Sam’s pretty sure Jordan thinks Taylor’s sports knowledge is sexy, but that’s weird, so Sam tries not to think about it. Taylor’s almost almost super pretty, but not consistently. She’s tall, and she’s blond, but kind of doesn’t know what she’s doing with herself. But whatever, she has Jordan, who thinks she’s practically perfect. The way they look at each other does things to Sam’s heart so she stares at the television instead.

Tyler Seguin is not the savior of Edmonton, but he has been having a good sophomore season. Taylor has more ridiculous analysis of his game than anyone else, which is saying something. Last year Tyler Seguin followed Ryan Jones to one of their games, because apparently the idea of roller girls is “hot” or something. Jonesy didn’t stop the rookie from following them to the bar, introductions were made, and Taylor and Tyler sort of hit it off.

Taylor’s been rambling on about advanced Corsi whatever for a while when Maggie joins them. She puts up with the numbers for about a minute before rolling her eyes. “Enough with the numbers talk, you should tell Ryan about the time you kissed him.”

Taylor splutters and Jordan glares. Sam tries not to laugh at them. Ryan appears to be slightly afraid.

“It was just one time!” Taylor objected. “And I was drunk. Sam’s story about kissing a first overall draft pick is way better.”

Sam sighs. “How about Taylor starts talking about Landeskog instead. He’s Swedish; you like that, right?”

Maggie grins. There’s something malevolent going on with her eyebrows. “How about you tell me this story.”

Sam sighs again, and says, “I grew up with John Tavares. One time we kissed.”

“You’re not doing a very good job at telling the story,” Maggie says. “You’re leaving out all kinds of important details. For example, had Tavares kissed anyone before you?”

Sam really regrets the night last season when she got tipsy enough to be conned into playing truth or dare. She isn’t a bit surprised to see that come back to bite her. “No, he had not.”

“See, that’s better.” Maggie’s grinning. “Now tell it properly.”

Sam sighs for a third time and resigns herself to leading story time. She talks to Ryan, because Ryan isn’t terrible, and because Ryan hasn’t heard this story before. If she focuses on Ryan it’s possible to ignore the way the others are laughing at her.

“I’ve known John forever,” Sam begins, at the beginning. “He’s one of my best friends. This happened the summer before he started playing in the OHL. He was fourteen and I was fifteen. It was the end of summer. He said he was nervous. I wanted to know why; he isn’t the nervous type. He wasn’t worried about the hockey stuff, but people stuff was giving him trouble. He told me he had never kissed anyone before. And, like, my first kiss had been pretty terrible,” Sam says, wincing just thinking about it. “Like, seriously painfully awkward. And I didn’t want John to go through that. So I kissed him. End of story. Everyone can go back to drinking and watching the Oilers lose to the Canucks.”

“And is that the only time you ever kissed him?” Maggie asks.

Sam is friends with terrible people. “No, it isn’t.”

Fortunately Landeskog scores and the group’s attention shifts back to the ice and away from Sam’s weak love life.

**X**

Sam doesn’t think the story of how John went from being a boy she kissed once to a boy she’s kissed lots of times is particularly interesting. It happened two summers ago, before her last year of college. When school got out she went to stay with her parents in Vancouver. She liked seeing her family, but she didn’t have friends in the city, and living with them meant she didn’t have the independence she was used to. It quickly became boring and frustrating. She called John to complain and he invited her to come stay with him for a while.

Going to John’s place wasn’t like going home, but it was close. They both had childhood friends to catch up with, and it felt good to be back in Ontario. Sam moved around a lot as a child and this is the closest she ever got to having stability and a real home town.

It was good to see Mr and Mrs Tavares. It had been ages since she had seen them, but there had been an era when she was around all of the time. They’ve always thought that she’s a good girl, and a good influence. They saw her friendship with John as an important distraction, evidence that he could have a life outside of hockey. Years later John told her that they were proud of him for having a crush on a neighbor girl, like a normal boy, not a hockey prodigy.

Catching up is nice, but she had abandoned her own family looking for more freedom, which isn’t possible with anyone's parents hovering.

John had just gotten his own place for the off season, an apartment that he really did not know what to do with. It was almost entirely empty, furnished with only the bare essentials. They both tried to fix things up, but neither of them knew what they were doing.

When she got there the plan was that Sam could sleep on the couch, but it turned out not to be a good couch. John had ordered it from the internet while he was still in New York, so it looked like a nice couch, but it wasn’t really. It was a sofa of deception. He did have a king sized bed, and they could share that. It wouldn’t be weird; they decided it wouldn’t be weird. They were too good friends for it to be _weird._

It wasn’t weird at all. It was comfortable. They didn’t plan on cuddling, it just happened. After a few weeks they stopped caring, and started curling around each other before they fell asleep. Sam can’t remember who initiated the first kiss—the second kiss really. From there things progressed naturally.

They hardly noticed time passing. Before too long it was August and Sam had to leave to spend the end of summer with her family before going back to school. They knew they should talk about what everything meant, but they kept putting it off. It was the kind of conversation that procrastination was made for.

Eventually there wasn’t any time left. Sam had go to the airport in the morning. They had to figure something out.

“You’re my best friend, yeah?” Sam said, not asking.

John nodded.

“And this is…it’s good, yeah, but it’s not…” Sam didn’t know what she was saying. Sustainable. Tethering. A commitment. “You’re my best friend, and I love you, but most of the time we’re…”

“Very far apart,” John said, supplying the perfect phrase. She should have left all the talking to him.

“Exactly.” They were going to be very far apart and had other stuff to worry about. It wouldn’t work.

He kissed her softly. “It really sucks.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But we’ll be fine.”

“Of course we will; we’re best friends.”

Summer ended. Sam went back to school. She played roller derby and took courses needed to meet requirements so she could graduate in the spring. The Islanders struggled and finished out of playoffs. Sam got a job. John played at Worlds.

They see each other when they can. They text and talk and email. Sam tries not to think about how much time she spends thinking about him. He plays hockey, she plays roller derby. Life goes on.

**X**

The Oil Babes’ third match is almost comically bad. It looks like both teams have forgotten how to play the game. There’s something pleasingly surreal about the bout, which can at least partly be attributed to the night’s carnival theme. There are too many banners and bright colors. Skating in circles around the track makes Sam feel dizzy, which isn’t good.

The music and the lights get to her. She wants it to be over. The loss doesn’t hurt one bit, because losing means the night can’t go on any longer.

The world doesn’t get steadier when she takes off her skates. Everything seems to be slanting away from her, just a little bit. She hadn’t slept well the night before. She had gotten stuck on the internet, watching music videos and Islanders’ highlights.

The girls are heading to the bar, but she can’t. All she wants is to go home to her bed. Friends are great, but sometimes beds are better. She makes her excuses (they’re very good excuses), and they let her go.

“Drive safe, yeah?” Ryan says. Sam manages a weak smile, then leaves.

She gets home and makes friends with her bed— _best friends_ —and tries to sleep. It doesn’t happen. Her heart is heavy and her eyelids are leaden, but she isn’t drifting into dreams.

She presses the back of her hand to her forehead; she might have a fever. She doesn’t have a thermometer. Her mother bought her one when she left for college but it broke a few years ago and she hasn’t replaced it. 

Sometimes the right choice in the long run is the type of choice mothers and high school health teachers warn against. She hauls herself out of her bed—the worst friend, a horrible friend who isn’t there for her the way it should be, her bed the heart breaker—and into the bathroom. She takes some generic brand night time cold medicine. The medicine is twelve percent alcohol, and it makes her mouth burn. She splashes some water on her face, and rebrushes her teeth. 

The bed is still not her friend. It betrayed her trust, now she’ll spurn it until she’s ready to pass out. It’s going to take time for the medicine to kick in. She leans against the window. The glass is pleasingly cold, and fogs up when she breathes on it. She has her phone, which might be a bad idea, but whatever. She doesn’t want to communicate with anyone, but she kind of wants to press buttons. Button pressing is fun. 

She calls John’s land line knowing that he won’t pick up, having lost a game in Tampa earlier in the evening. She likes leaving messages though, rambling about all the stuff she normally wouldn’t bother to tell him. She doesn’t usually do this, but something in her possible fever makes her want to reach towards him. She talks about their loss and the new filing system at work and how cold the glass is against her face. The machine cuts her off in the middle of a sentence. She sighs and looks towards the bed. It doesn’t look so horrible now.

She is so tired.

It is time for a reconciliation. It isn’t the bed’s fault she couldn’t sleep. She can forgive it for failing to live up to her high expectations. They’re friends again, and she’s happy to relax into its warm embrace.

If she has any dreams that night she forgets them all by the morning.

**X**

Sam quit hockey right before high school, right after John got drafted in the OHL. It was clear he was going places, which made Sam wonder where hockey could take her.

She considered what it would mean to reach the absolute best possible reality with her hockey. It would mean a scholarship to a school with a good athletics program. (Her parents had the money to pay for college wherever she could possibly want to go.) It would mean spending four years balancing her game and her education.

She might get to play on team Canada at the Olympics. (But not the World Cup or World Juniors, not like John, because those are just for guys. There isn’t really an equivalent competition for ladies, nothing with close to the same profile.)

She could go on to play in a women’s hockey league, she isn’t sure which. She isn’t sure which ones would still exist by the time she reached that level. Sam grew up watching women’s ice hockey and idolizing female players, but it isn’t exactly the show. She could have grown up to be a poster on the bedroom walls of the next generation of girls. Maybe things would be different for them, the gender gap could disappear, and the world could care about the ladies’ game as much as the men’s. That would be wonderful, but Sam couldn’t imagine that happening in her playing career.

Still, she could have played. She could have scored goals and won faceoffs. She could have made hockey her life. Maybe it would have been great.

She imagined the best case scenario, what would happen if she became the absolute best, which was in no way a guarantee. She was good enough, with the added advantage of a supportive family that included a father who played in the NHL. It was possible, for sure, but she was never going to get tall. She’s five four now, and that’s after a junior year growth spurt. She could have made it, probably, but that didn’t mean it was the right thing to do.

Being the absolute best as a lady hockey player wouldn’t get Sam anywhere she really wanted to go.

She loved the game, she still does, but she couldn’t make it the most important thing in her life. Maybe if the world was different. If the attention given to men’s and women’s athletics were anywhere near equal she might not have made the same choices. If her dad had waited another year or two before giving her the option of going all in or taking a step back she might have made another decision.

She isn’t sure that this was the right choice. She isn’t sure that she’ll ever know for sure. She’s happy now, but there is always the question, would she have been happier if she had stuck with hockey?

She doesn’t know.

She does know she’s happier when not asking that question.

Her life is more enjoyable when she isn’t comparing it to maybes and might-have-beens. She likes her life now. She likes how roller derby is a women’s sport, where the men’s teams get ignored. She loves her team. It’s healthier to appreciate what she has than to dwell on what she might have given up.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t times when she wonders.

**X**

Sam might hate her job. It has slowly progressed from dull, to trying, to painful.

Some days hurt more than others. This day is one of the worst. Donors are visiting to look at all the wonderful things their money has accomplished. It’s worse than anything Sam had imagined.

She had been responsible for setting up refreshments for their guests. She didn’t mind it when she was assigned the task; it was sucky, but she is the least senior staff member, so it made sense. Now she’s ready to bite someone.

She had been requested to dress nice for the occasion. Her boss said they had to look “polished,” taking it up a step up from business casual. Sam’s wearing a simple black dress and nylons. The men she has been bringing coffee to all morning keep leering at her legs. It makes her feel like she’s in an episode of Mad Men, in a creepy male gaze sense. She wonders if she could “trip” and spill hot liquid on any of these geezers. She’s wearing high heels, because _polish_ , and they aren’t very steady. She wouldn’t get fired. She would have to apologize though, and that indignity would void out the pleasure of the spill.

After everyone is settled in with their coffees and danishes it’s time for her boss to make a presentation about how their funding works to the crowd of old dudes in suits. That takes most of the morning. Their funding could be explained very simply: they need more, please. This presentation is the opposite of that. It’s packed with vocab words and synergy. Sam helped make the charts in the power point, but today she just gets to watch. That’s alright, because it isn’t like she wants to be responsible for persuading anyone, but if she had to talk there would be more incentive to stay awake.

The presentation only bravely mentions the art, and barely comments on the people they’re working with. It’s all about how they’re a business, not about what they do. It’s total bullshit.

Sam spends the afternoon biting her tongue and trying not to feel objectified or patronized or bored. It mostly doesn’t work. She leaves for practice in a bad mood, hoping that roller derby will be the healing salve for everything painful in her life.

Looking back this is assuredly an unrealistic proposition.

**X**

Sam loves roller derby, she really does, but sometimes it’s the worst. No it isn’t, but sometimes she has her period and it’s cold out and she trips in practice and everything is just the worst.

She skates away from the track, hardly noticing that Ryan follows her over to the bench.

She stares at her skate laces and tries not to think about the bruise that’s going to form on her hip from the fall. It’s going to be big, purple with green edges, ugly as hell. No one else is going to see it.

“Are Taylor and Jordan better at being grown ups than me?” Sam asks.

Ryan doesn’t say anything, but she never says anything; she just frowns.

“Because, like, they’re in a committed relationship. And I don’t even have a boyfriend. And they cook dinner together and co-own a really nice sofa and stuff.” Sam doesn’t co-own anything with anyone. “I feel like they might be slightly better than me at being adults. But I’m older than them—it isn’t fair.”

Sam is taking her skates off even though practice is less than half way over because she can’t do this any longer.

“I mean, I’m trying, right?” Sam says. “I’m employed. I can do laundry. I call my parents every week.” She isn’t sure if that last fact supports or weakens her claims at adulthood, but it seems worth mentioning.

“I don’t think that being grown up is really something that can be judged?” Ryan says.

That makes a lot of sense. Sam doesn’t look up from her skate laces.

Ryan might actually be the most mature person Sam knows in Edmonton. She has a lot of poise. Maybe this is just covering up for some lurking insufficiency, but probably not. It makes perfect sense that the most mature person Sam knows is a skinny 18-year-old girl who doesn’t talk.

“How did you get so smart?” Sam asks.

Ryan shrugs.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re on our team.”

Their team is the best at being awesome. Sam doesn’t care if they can’t win.

**X**

The fourth match is a good game. It’s close. They almost win. They just can’t get it together. It’s frustrating because it feels like they’re doing everything they can but they still aren’t winning.

Afterwards they go get drunk; gloriously, sloppily, joyfully drunk. These ladies are Sam’s favorite ladies ever. They shoot the moon. They light up her life. Their voices are like beautiful music. Sam makes the mistake of actually saying this, which Taylor takes as an invitation to start singing. This not what Sam intended.

“I meant it metaphorically!” She insists in the car ride home, but Jordan, who got stuck with the job of designated driver, doesn’t care. Apparently she does not appreciate being serenaded about how much Taylor loves the gap between her teeth. Jordan isn’t any fun at all. 

Jordan drops them at Sam’s apartment before taking her girl home to get tucked in. Ryan’s dorm is in the opposite direction, and Sam’s happy to let her friend spend the night on her couch.

They don’t want go to sleep right away. At least Sam doesn’t want to sleep, and Ryan isn’t saying anything to contradict Sam’s swiftly forming plans. There are Buffy reruns on TV and ice cream in the freezer. Sam hopes it can soak up the alcohol in her belly. Ryan drifts off leaning on Sam’s side, and her arm might be numb in the morning, but she doesn’t care. Friends are absolutely the greatest invention of all time forever and ever, amen.

**X**

Every year the Joneses throw a Christmas party and invite both of their teams. Every year it’s too loud, things get broken, and someone has to leave in the middle to buy more ice and chips. Every year Jamie swears is going to be the last, but it keeps on happening.

Tyler Seguin is terrible; Sam says this objectively, judging his tattoos and presence on twitter. He’s also a good hockey player and occasionally a decent human being. He wanted to introduce his rookie to their rookie, but Maggie stole Landeskog as soon as she walked in so they could go be Swedish together or whatever. That leaves Segs talking at Ryan, trying to be friendly and only mostly failing. He dominates the conversation by virtue of being the loudest person in the corner.

“Do you want to hear the story of how I’m responsible for those two getting together?” Tyler asks, gesturing at Taylor and Jordan who are sitting mostly on top of each other in one chair. 

“No,” Jordan says firmly. “Nobody wants to hear that story.”

It was a rhetorical question; Segs loves telling this story. “So, last January I asked Taylor out...”

“Why did you say yes?” Jordan interrupts. “I still can’t believe you said yes!”

“I didn’t realize you liked me back!” Taylor says. “And I guess he’s alright looking and good at hockey? I dunno, I was bored.”

“Alright looking?” Segs objects. “Not cool.”

“I’m still stuck on how you didn’t realize Jordan liked you,” Sam says. “Everyone realized Jordan liked you.”

“ _I_ realized Jordan liked you,” Segs says.

“Yet you still asked her out,” Jordan says. “Because you’re terrible.”

Tyler shrugs. “Anyway, so Hallsy and I went out on a nice date. The restaurant had a _tablecloth_.”

“It was _so_ awkward,” Taylor says.

“Yeah, but that’s because you were hung up on Ebs,” Tyler says, defending his reputation. “I am great at dates. Seriously—great, when I want to be. And then I dropped you off at home and walked you to the door because I am gentleman...”

“You mean because you wanted to kiss her,” Sam interrupts. She isn’t going to let him get away with any excess bullshit.

“Because I am a gentleman and great at kissing and didn’t want to deprive the lady of that.”Tyler ignores the collective giggles at Taylor being a lady. “So I walked Taylor to the door, and I was starting to put on the charm...”

“And it wasn’t working,” Taylor says.

“It would have,” Tyler says. “If we hadn’t been interrupted by Ms. Jordan Eberle who had been lurking by windows like a possessive weirdo...”

“Or a responsible friend who didn’t want to have her roommate deal with your advances,” Jordan says.

“Or a jealous nutjob,” Tyler counters. “So Jordan comes out and pulls Taylor inside, and then they talked about their feelings, and now they’re lesbians, and I don’t even get to watch.”

“You’re terrible,” Sam says.

“So terrible,” Jordan agrees. “And we’re not lesbians—well, Taylor’s not a lesbian. That isn’t the point. We just don’t like you.”

Tyler sighs. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

“Chlamydia?” Taylor guesses.

“Whatever, you’re just jealous that my wife is prettier than yours,” Tyler says. Sam’s pretty sure that comment has something to do with twitter, but she really doesn’t want to know.

She turns to Ryan. "I am so sorry. We didn't pick him, Steve Tambellini did, and the OHL won't take him back."

Ryan smiles slightly. “He’s not so bad.”

“You’re such a nice girl,” Jordan says. “Nice, but wrong. He’s the worst.”

Tyler takes offense at that, and then they’re off, bickering away. Taylor brings up something about Segs’ stats which he takes offense at. Jordan’s grinning at Taylor like she’s magic.

Sam looks at Ryan, who’s looking into her cup. “Aren’t you glad you decided to play roller derby?”

Ryan smiles for real, showing off her dimples, showcasing her nice white teeth. “Totally the best decision I’ve ever made.”

That’s exactly how Sam sees it too.

**X**

Sam spends the actual Christmas holiday with her parents in Vancouver. She never lived there, so she can’t call it going home.

Her parents would love it if she moved to Vancouver. She might love it if she moved to Vancouver. She isn’t going to move to Vancouver. She doesn’t want to move to a city because it’s where her parents live. That seems juvenile. She can’t just tell them that.

She says, “If I want to get rained on every day I’d move to Seattle.” She isn’t going to move to Seattle. Probably.

It’s good to see her parents. She can’t tell if they worry about her, living alone in another province. She doesn’t know if they should worry about her. Probably. It wouldn’t hurt.

Her dad asks if she needs money. She doesn’t. She knows they’re going to give her money for Christmas. She’s still on their phone plan. They’re paying for her unlimited data usage.

When she talks to them she’s careful to only mention the good and understandable things in her life. They think her job’s a good opportunity. They don’t understand what roller derby is. They’re happy she has friends.

Her little sister is growing up, and still playing hockey. They’re awkward around each other, learning to talk to each other as adults, or almost adults, close enough, whatever.

Sam wonders if she seems grown up.

It’s her family; she loves her family. She feels that she shouldn’t have to remind herself of this.

It’s a relief to fly to New York on Boxing Day. Even the madness of the airport is alright, she knows what emotional response it deserves.

**X**

John picks her up at the airport. After they hug he says, “You’re the prettiest girl in Long Island.” It’s Long Island, so she doesn’t know if it’s a great compliment, but whatever. It’s a sweet thing for a him to say.

Seeing John is good for her health. She might be happier if she saw him everyday, but she doesn’t like to think about that.

Long Island is always nicer than she remembers. John has money so the parts Sam sees is all suburb. It’s boring, but really, so is Edmonton. So maybe Long Island doesn’t have the largest shopping mall in North America, but it is has plenty to offer. It’s just outside New York city, which is pretty impressive. Only Sam doesn’t have the motivation to figure out the trains, so while John is at practice she drives his car around Nassau County.

She wants to make them a nice dinner. John has been cooking for them, and it isn’t terrible, but it’s unexciting. Sam isn’t sure she can do any better, but she wants to try.

She finds a grocery store; it’s a terrifying fancy people grocery store, but it’ll do. 

Then she realizes that she doesn’t know what to make and doesn’t know what groceries to buy. This is what friends are for. Jordan doesn’t even spend much time teasing her. (Taylor, who answers Jordan’s phone, is terrible, but that was to be expected.) Sam is glad she’s friends with at least one person who’s competent in the kitchen and capable of explaining easy boyfriend-impressing cooking tips while in another country. Sam is very impressed; she’ll have to buy Jordan a drink once they’re all back in Edmonton.

Friends aren’t just nice to have, they’re useful! (Sometimes. Sometimes they’re pests.)

She picks John up from practice. She waits in the car so she doesn’t have to meet any of his teammates. She knows more than enough hockey players. She makes him drive home, because _Long Island._ (That is totally a legitimate reason, he shouldn’t laugh at her.)

Sam cooks dinner; John offers his help, but she doesn’t trust it. She manages not to burn anything and only texts Jordan twice. The meal tastes like victory and properly used spices. (Sam had to buy spices, because she was aware that the cupboards were bare. It was an exhilarating experience. She hadn’t realized there were so many different kinds of salt.)

Cooking dinner for John feels nice. Normally cooking is a chore, but normally she is only cooking for herself. Feeding someone else—someone that she cares about—makes it an enjoyable task. She can see doing this again. She can almost imagine repeating this act, cooking for John, every day. It wouldn’t be the worst thing. She would enjoy it more than looking at budget reports.

Cooking for John every day is an impossible proposition. She could cook for him lots of days if they lived in the same city, but not every day because he’d still have to travel with the team, and then she’d be alone in Long Island, which is a depressing prospect.

She has to leave in the morning. They’ve lived through this before. Too many times.

Sam doesn’t actually mind Long Island, she just tells herself she does to make it seem like less of an option. Long Island is terrible. She could never move to Long Island, not even if she’s in love. Especially not for a reason like that. Strong feminist-leaning young women don’t move across the continent because of a man.

John’s bed is stupidly comfortable. It probably cost more than her rent. And it has John in it for bonus points. His bed makes her want to sleep for a week and never learn another filing system again in her life.

Sam says, “I don’t want to go, I just want to stay here forever. Here doesn’t mean Long Island, it means your bed. I’m never leaving.”

“So don’t,” John says. He means it to. If that’s really want she wanted to do he’d try to make it possible. 

"I'm not going to stay," Sam says.

"I know. You have a life in Edmonton. You could though. If you want. I'd love that."

"You want me to live in Long Island as your trophy wife?” Sam asks. “I could learn how to cook and iron.” There’s this whole possible world that exists mostly in her head. “You'd have to get me a nice big rock, maybe in few years we could have some kids and you could teach them how to play hockey. Three generations, eh? Is that what you want?"

She wouldn’t be mad if that’s what he wants. She doesn’t know if she could live that life, but she can understand why it’s desirable.

"I want you to be happy.” God, his stupid face is so wonderful. She can’t handle it.

He wants her to be happy. Isn’t that a grand thing to say. She wants that too, for herself, for John, and for them together.

“Yeah. That’s great. Happy: that’s just perfect. It’s just…I don’t know.”

He holds her close, so close. He’s so much bigger than her; she’s surrounded by his warmth and his scent and his arms. “You don’t have to know yet. I don’t either.”

She wants to laugh about how little they know, but kisses him instead.

She still has to leave in the morning.

**X**

During the first practice back they might spend more time catching up about what everyone did for the holidays than actually skating. It’s fine, because Sam loves these ladies, but it also sucks because she has to talk about where she was.

She doesn’t have much to say about her family. They were good. It was comfortable-boring. Then she went and visited John, and she never knows how to explain John.

Jordan and Taylor had their first proper couple’s winter holiday season, and are happy to talk about it to everyone all of the time. They spent Christmas in Regina where Taylor was honored be included in the Eberle family pajamas. They spent New Years in Kingston. Taylor’s parents tried to act like they weren’t at all miffed that their daughter wasn’t home for Christmas. They had to keep their hands mostly to themselves when the clock struck midnight.

Ryan doesn’t talk about what happened with her family during the holidays, which seems normal, but isn’t. She’s proactively not talking about it, which probably isn’t good. 

Maggie isn’t at practice. Maybe she’s in Sweden. Maybe she’s in Oklahoma, that’s been true before; newsworthy things happen in Oklahoma sometimes, apparently, according to Maggie. She could be anywhere in the world.

Sam is Edmonton, listening to her friends talk (or not talk) about how complicated their lives are. Sam is so impressed with them, she doesn’t even know how to put her own complicated life into words. All she can do is listen and wish she had something helpful to say.

She doesn’t.

Somehow it happened that she is the oldest and “wisest” person in her little subgroup of friends, and it makes it feel like she should have some kind of answers. Really, it’s obvious that Ebs is better that this kind of stuff, and just like, life, generally, but that doesn’t stop Sam from feeling inadequate. She wants to offer words of wisdom! She wants to be able to provide guidance! It just isn’t something she’s able to do, at least not yet. Her own life is too messy for her to feel qualified to offer advice to anyone else.

**X**

She hangs out with Ryan—that’s a thing they do now. They drink tea and Sam talks and Ryan smiles sometimes.

Ryan hangs out with Taylor and Jordan too, most of it is even voluntarily. Sam spent enough of the last year observing their blossoming romance to learn how the two of them can sometimes operate as a closed unit, but apparently Ryan doesn’t have the same problem.

Sam’s happy to see the young ones getting along.

**X**

Sam doesn’t know what to make of their fifth loss. They just can’t find their feet. Things aren’t meshing. They’re making stupid mistakes. Nobody has their head in the game.

Sam doesn’t know where her head is. Maybe in Long Island. Maybe in Vancouver. Maybe it’s still in the office. It doesn’t matter where she left it, it sure isn’t on the track.

By the time it’s over everyone is exhausted. Sam never wants to see her skates again, but knows she’ll have forgotten this feeling by the next time they have practice.

They still go out afterwards, because that’s what they do. They’re team, and they’re still playing catch up. It feels good to kick back with her favorite ladies. After that loss, recreational drinking doesn’t sound fun. They go to an all night diner instead, pushing together a bunch of tables to accommodate everyone. 

Shawna sits at the head, the proper place for their captain. She passes around a picture of her kids sitting with Santa, which is so cute it should be outlawed. No stupid mall snapshot should be allowed to give Sam so many feelings. They’re beautiful children. Shawna’s barely thirty, which really isn’t that old. Sam will be almost thirty soon enough. Shawna has things figured out. Sam would like to be that competent when she grows up, but not if it means being responsible for this team.

Jordan and Taylor are leaning into each other on the other side of the table, and Ryan’s at her elbow. People are where they belong.

They let her complain about work; Jordan even makes sympathetic noises. Jordan complains about applying for grad school, which is actually interesting on some level, unlike Taylor complaining about the film studies class she took for an arts credit. Silent films and subtitles are not the end of the world. Just because Taylor can’t handle them that doesn’t mean she should be allowed to give advice to Ryan about which courses to take.

Taylor’s a geography major, which will stop being funny five minutes before the world ends. It’s especially awesome because Taylor is terrible with directions. Jordan is _always_ the designated navigator whenever they’re in a car together. Also, Taylor says things like: “Geography is super exciting, guys! There are all these different kinds of maps!”

Teasing her about this is almost too easy. Whits won’t let it go, turning to Jordan and asking, “So, does she sleep with an atlas under her pillow?” Then cracking up before Jordan can answer.

“What can you even do with a geography major?” Sam asks.

Taylor makes the grand pronouncement of “Environmental Management,” or at least that’s what Sam thinks she says, but it’s hard to tell through Taylor’s mouth full of pancakes. Sam has no idea what that means, and isn’t going to ask.

Jordan is on a career track that seems like it will be rewarding, which, well; great for her. She’ll be a great social worker. The people of Alberta will be lucky to have her. She’s good at being an adult. She’s a woman, not a girl, but she doesn’t always look like one. She keeps her hair short, butch or boyish depending on how messy it is and how long it’s been since she last had it cut. With her smile and sleepy eyes she can look younger than she is.

Sam wishes that she had some wisdom to offer about being a grown up, or at least looking like one. The year she has on Jordan is really nothing, but there should be something smart she can say.

Ryan probably doesn’t need or want advice about her education. She’s probably better at this sort of stuff than Sam ever was, not that it matters in the long run. Sam really enjoyed getting her degree, but now it hasn’t turned into something she uses everyday. That’s probably a bad thing, and she would probably hate her job less if it had more to do with her major, but the point isn’t that Sam has made some questionable life choices about her employment. The point is that education isn’t what makes a good life.

Sam isn’t sure precisely what is important, but she’s pretty sure nights like these are a big part, nights with friends and food, loud conversation and pictures of other people’s children. Nights like these certainly do a lot to make her life better, even when everything else isn’t working the way it should.

**X**

A week after that night Sam goes to an Oilers game with Jamie. They sit in a box full of players’ families, something Sam’s is used to from watching her dad play when she was a kid.

The Oilers are playing the Wild. It’s an alright game. Neither team are playing great, but they’re flawed in different ways. The Wild are just not quite there, and badly injured to boot. The Oilers don’t quite know what they’re doing. If Sam wanted to watch people lose she could have stayed at home with her memories (or caught the Islanders game on tv, but it feels mean to even think that). Sam isn’t attending because of the match up, but because it’s live hockey.

She really does love the game. Watching hockey and talking with a friend is always a good time.

“Your husband has ridiculous hair,” Sam says. It has to be said.

“I know, right? It’s amazing.” Jamie’s weird. Maybe being married means you have to approve of your partner’s more outlandish choices; Sam wouldn’t know.

Sam doesn’t spend a lot of time with married people when there aren’t other single people around too. (Taylor and Jordan don’t count as married, even though they basically are, because Sam isn’t comfortable being close friends with married people. She realizes this isn’t a reasonable position.) It’s strange to sit in a box full of wives and girlfriends, people who have been brought together by their partner’s profession, not by any act of their own.

Jamie is a hockey wife, but she has her own life. She plays roller derby and does charity work and is a smart lovely person. She’s still a hockey wife.

Sam isn’t going to ask: What is it like being married to a hockey player? She doesn’t want to know. There isn’t any reason why she would ask that question. If she did she could ask her mother.

Jamie isn’t like Sam’s mother. They’re both pretty great, and Jamie will be a great mother someday, but they aren’t the same at all. They scare her in different ways.

She wonders if Jamie ever considers asking her what it was like having a professional hockey player as a father, hoping to find out what is in store for her future children. Sam has thought about how she’d answer that question, just in case. It’s one of the things she thinks about when she can’t sleep, along with the names of the provinces, and John’s stats. It’s nearly boring, but not quite, more of a familiar and comfortable train of thought.

She had a good childhood, all of the material comforts imaginable. Moving as much as they did might not have been ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world. She didn’t have anything to compare it to; you only get to grow up once.

Halfway through the third the Oilers are down 2-0.

“Doesn’t this feel familiar?” Jamie asks.

It does. “I guess it’s nice to know we’re not the only losing team in town,” Sam says. The Oilers have a better record than the Oil Babes, but not having lost in every single match is hardly something to brag about. If they played 82 games a year Sam believes that her team would be able to eke out a few Ws.

“It almost feels like somebody put a curse on the city so nobody can win. Probably someone from Calgary,” Jamie says.

It’s a ludicrous idea. Sam wishes she could buy into it, but there are facts in her way. “What about the Oil Kings?”

Jamie scoffs. “The can take their pretty jailbait faces and disappear. I want to believe it’s magic making all of us lose. Then it wouldn’t be our fault.”

Sam laughs. “That’s one way of avoiding responsibility.”

Landeskog scores a beauty goal, putting the Oilers on the board. Jamie cheers especially loud. “It’s strange,” She says. “I’m too young to be Gabe’s mother, but I still want to look out for him. Maybe it’ll be good practice for when we have kids of our own?” Jamie wonders.

“Maybe.” Sam shrugs. She isn’t confident in her predictions for the future.

Jamie misses the gesture, still watching her boys on the ice below. “Probably not, but maybe. Anyway, it’s nice to cook for four instead of two; I like having a house full of people.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” Sam has spent the last several years living by herself. She isn’t lonely, she likes having space and freedom, but she thinks about the stolen pieces of summer that she spends with John, where they might not say anything but orbit around each other. Living with someone she really cared about would be nice.

“Gabe staying with us is good for the team,” Jamie says. She had been uncertain about the potential benefits of billeting baby hockey players, but she sounds confident now. “Team, at its best, should be like family. It doesn’t have to be. There can be winning teams who don’t treat each other well; it isn’t common, but it happens. That’s what I try to do with my team, and it’s what we try to do with Ryan’s team.”

Sam agrees, for the most part. Growing up there had always been a blur. At times her father’s teammates had been almost like family, with the caveat that it could change at any time with a trade or a new contract. A better way of looking at it might be to say that she started viewing her family as her team. It’s the people surrounding her who want her to succeed. When she was younger that mostly meant relations; now it means them, and John, and her girls, her actual teammates who she talks to all the time and loves to pieces. Parsing out the line between team and family would be a futile exercise in categorization. Sam would rather simply say that those are the people who matter, and leave it at that.

“I think that our team is better at being family than Ryan’s,” Jamie says. “A lot of that is that we aren’t professionals. We’re doing this because it’s fun, we aren’t looking to make money. In a lot of ways it’s dumb to compare the two. But I don’t care, our team is awesome.”

“So awesome,” Sam agrees.

“The awesomest,” Jamie says. “It we were any more awesome I wouldn’t believe it. Maybe that’s why we can’t win? Because we’re too busy being awesome in other ways.”

“I’d say that’s a fair trade,” Sam says.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t trade this team for the world,” Jamie says. “Like, Edmonton is fine. And I love that Ryan’s playing, but I need my own life too. I’m his life outside of hockey, which means I need a life outside of being a hockey wife.”

This is something Sam wouldn’t admit to thinking about when she imagines the future, but that’s because she doesn’t want to seem presumptuous, not because it isn’t a concern.

“When we moved here I didn’t know anyone,” Jamie says. “Then I joined the team and bang: social life, best friends, family.”

Sam likes this success story. It gives her hope.

The Oilers lose 2-1. Jamie goes home with her husband. Sam goes home alone.

**X**

Sam doesn’t date hockey players. Whatever her and John are doing isn’t dating. (Whatever the multiple times where she slept with Andrew Cogliano were wasn’t dating, it’s called being eighteen and dumb.)

Sam doesn’t want to date a hockey player. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. Her mother married a hockey player, so clearly it’s something wise women sometimes do.

Maybe it’s the fact that her mother married a hockey player that makes Sam so certain it isn’t anything she wants to do. Daughters don’t want to grow up to be their mothers, most of the time. If Sam marries a hockey player it will prove Oscar Wilde right.

There’s a myth or a theory or a superstition, Sam isn’t sure which, that haunts psychoanalysts and the human imagination: that girls want to grow up and marry men like their fathers. So Sam could never marry a hockey player. She can’t live her life in a manner that gives this idea validation.

Never mind how much she loves John and his dumb smile. It doesn’t matter how much moving to Long Island might make her life more pleasant. 

Sam and John don’t do long distance, which is what it is. This means she is capital letter Single. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or a fuck buddy in Edmonton, and she doesn’t have the patience to appear like a normalish functioning human adult long enough to pick anyone up. She doesn’t have any batteries either, so it’s just her and her hand, alone in the bed.

It’s important to take refuge in simple pleasures when facing down defeat or despair.

**X**

Their sixth loss is a colossal fuck up. That’s really the best way to describe it. From the start they’re getting outplayed, but instead of accepting their defeat gracefully they get reckless, trying to make any kind of impact. They’re making mistakes. It’s bad. Then it gets worse.

Taylor is the jammer. She’s trying to get through the pack to start scoring points, but it isn’t happening. There are too many bodies in the way, slamming her back as she pushes forward.

Taylor gets knocked down hard. It might have been someone's elbow, or it might have been gravity. It happens sometimes. Derby isn’t a gentle sport, of course it happens. It isn’t good. Taylor falls to the track and everyone freezes, the music cuts out, the crowd is silent; that’s just protocol. There’s always a medic standing by, and he gets there first. Sam is down on her knees, wishing she could touch Jordan who is only just more than an arm’s reach ahead of her.

Taylor is mostly out of view even further ahead. Even from this distance Sam can tell that something isn’t right, that Taylor isn’t picking herself up to keep skating. Sam watches as the medic helps Taylor off the track. She’s cradling her side. It isn’t good. Taylor’s shoulder has been messed up for as long as Sam’s known her. Sam can just barely see the way Jordan’s fingernails dig into her thighs.

A time out is called. Jordan is on her feet and after Taylor in an instant. Sam doesn’t let herself worry. Sam tries to pay attention to what Shawna’s saying about staying strong, and looks around at her team. The game isn’t over yet. They have to make it through the night.

This is the first time Ryan’s seen an Oil Babes injury up close. This isn’t the first accident in one of their matches, but it’s different when it’s a teammate instead of an opponent. She doesn’t seem rattled, but Sam knows that doesn’t mean she’s fine.

They finish the game without any other excess excitement. They lose. Of course they lose. Sam’s just glad that it’s over.

After that they can’t go out drinking that night—well, some people do, but Sam doesn’t. She follows the marrieds home, taking Ryan with her. Sam doesn’t want to leave any of them on their own.

Sam and Ryan get to the Eberle-Hall residence first. It’s too cold to stand outside so they wait in the running car. Ryan might be a bit freaked out. Sam can’t tell if this is an accurate observation, or if she’s projecting her own concern. Ryan is not at all jittery. If anything she’s exceptionally still.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Sam says. There weren’t any broken bones. “Taylor’s going to be okay.”

Ryan stares through the fog that’s beginning to gather on the window. “I know.”

They hear Taylor and Jordan before they see them. Taylor is repeating that she’s _fine, absolutely fine,_ at an impressive volume as the couple turn the corner. She’s gesturing wildly with one arm, the other held close to her body. Jordan isn’t looking at her girlfriend at all.

Jordan ignores them all on the way upstairs while Taylor continues to insist that she’s _totally fine._ Sam would buy _mostly fine,_ but _totally_ is obviously bullshit. Jordan unlocks their apartment and heads straight to the kitchen, not worrying about the snow her boots spread across the space.

Sam stops in the entry to pull off her winter things. Taylor drops her hat, scarf, and mittens on the floor before undoing the buttons on her coat. She starts to shrug of her jacket but the movement stops suddenly, she takes a startled pained breath. Sam moves to help, but Ryan gets there first, helping so Taylor can free her right arm first before letting the coat slide down her left.

Jordan marches back into the room. She takes Taylor’s right hand to drag her into the living room, pushes her onto the sofa, and presses an icepack against Taylor’s shoulder.

Jordan says, “Now hold that there and _stay still_.” She stomps off, returning a minute later with drug store pain reliever and a glass of water. 

Taylor takes the pill, grimacing.

Jordan says, “You look terrible.”

That may be a slight exaggeration, but she certainly doesn’t look well.

Taylor holds the ice to her shoulder and sighs. “I’m _fine,_ Jordan. _Fine_. I fell over, it’s roller derby, people fall over. It happens.”

This won’t go well. Sam didn’t want to get caught up in a domestic, she just wants to look after her friends.

“You fall over more than most people,” Jordan says.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Taylor says. It is, but Sam isn’t going to jump in the middle of this. They have to figure it out themselves.

Sam steers Ryan into the kitchen, but there isn’t actually a wall between the kitchen and the living room, so they can see and hear everything. If Taylor and Jordan wanted privacy they would go into the bedroom or kick their visitors out. Clearly they’re comfortable showing off their dirty laundry.

“I’m fine,” Taylor says again, as if the repetition can make Jordan believe this lie.

“Bullshit.” Jordan is so quiet at being angry. “You don’t think about your health. You take dumb risks. You can’t do that. I need you not to get hurt, that’s what is important. Everything else is whatever; remember, it’s just a game.”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to say?” Taylor asks indignantly. “Just a game?”

Sam picks up Jordan’s coat from where it had been left on the floor and hangs it over one of the bar stools. She starts opening the cupboards, looking for a distraction.

“Really,” Jordan says. “That’s the truth. It’s just roller derby.”

“Bull. Shit.” Taylor crosses her arms across her chest for emphasis, but the effect is ruined by the way she winces at the movement.

Jordan sighs. “Sure, it’s more than a game, it’s the holy grail, it’s grease lightning. Whatever it is, you not hurting yourself is ten thousand times more important. When you’re hurt it’s…not good.”

“It’s not like I do it on purpose,” Taylor whines.

“I know that,” Jordan says. “It’s just that you don’t do enough to prevent it either.”

“It’s my body, I can take whatever risks I want,” Taylor says, stubborn as hell. She doesn’t seem to see the absurdity in defending her right to get injured.

“No. I mean, yes, it’s your body, but you can’t do that. It isn’t just your body. I care about your body. _I care about you._ ”

Sam is looking at her fingernails and trying not to melt over how sappy and in love they are. Crazy people, sure, but crazy in love.

She looks at Ryan, who seems lost. If this was just Taylor and Jordan’s relationship drama she’d leave them to bicker it out, but there’s team unity to think about. The way the conversation is headed they’re about ten minutes from somebody crying, and Sam can’t be sure it wouldn’t be her, because they’re sweethearts, and she’s always had a problem getting weepy in romantic movies.

Taylor and Jordan are staring at each other, waiting for someone to speak when Sam breaks the moment.

“So, is anyone else hungry?” She asks.

Ryan shrugs, not asking for anything. Or maybe she just isn’t hungry, Sam doesn’t know.

“Can we have KD?” Taylor asks, accompanied by her best puppy dog eyes. Orange processed cheese is almost certainly appearing in their immediate future.

Jordan closes her eyes for a second and sighs. “Fine.”

Taylor smiles.

“But we’re having real food too! Protein! And vegetables!” Jordan insists. “You have to eat well so you can heal, yeah?”

“Ah, you take such good care of me,” Taylor says. Her voice is teasing, but affectionate.

Jordan starts cooking, slamming cabinet doors and banging pots around like they’re responsible for Taylor’s injury. Sam and Ryan stay out of her way.

“It’s like watching your parents fight, eh?” Sam asks.

“No, that was much worse.” Sam stares at Ryan, trying to get a handle on that statement. Her eyes are sad, but there’s a hint of a smile in her lips. That might have been a weak attempt at a joke. Sam can’t tell. She probably shouldn’t laugh, just in case. She hugs Ryan instead because hugs are the best reaction to people expressing unclear emotions.

Sam can step up and take care of her team when they need it. She can totally do that, because she’s a grown woman who understands how life works, most of the time.

Taylor and Jordan might get shouty sometimes, but it’s just because they’ve known each other for too long and have too many emotions.

She likes thinking about their love story. They met at summer camp when they were kids, and spent the next decade as pen pals. Then Jordan talked Taylor into applying to her college, then they became roommates, then they started playing derby together, then they started dating, and now Sam has to look out for them because they’re her teammates, and sometimes they’re a bit too in love to look out for themselves. She likes the part about how they were friends for a very long time before they started dating because it reminds her of her own romantic endeavors, though they seem to have figured things out more smoothly than John and her.

Jordan makes dinner. Ryan follows Taylor’s instructions to put on a movie. Sam tries to stay out of the way. Amazingly it turns into a good night.

By the time the movie is over Ryan is asleep, curled into herself against the arm of the sofa. No one has the heart to wake her. Jordan throws a blanket over the girl and promises to make sure she gets back to campus in the morning. Sam leaves, driving home alone through the snow to her empty apartment.

**X**

Sam is a grown up, so she doesn’t have a spring break anymore. That would be sad enough but her best friends are college students who do get a spring break. This means there’s going to be a week in March where all of her favorite people in Edmonton aren’t in Edmonton. 

The good thing about working at a job where she’s basically irrelevant is that it’s very easy to take time off. She can’t swing a whole week, but she should be able to make a long weekend.

Guaranteed the time off, she calls John and asks if he’d like to see her. She hardly finishes the question before he says yes.

He buys her a plane ticket. He has the money for it. She doesn’t feel guilty about the way he will spend money on her, but sometimes she does feel guilty about how she doesn’t care. There should be conflict here. She should be upset by taking his money, not wanting to feel like she owes him anything. Only it’s just John. She doesn’t owe him anything. Buying her a plane ticket doesn’t mean that he owns her. It’s simply that he has the money and she doesn’t. Not everything has to be drenched in power dynamics.

(She tried explaining this to her friends last year. Taylor seemed to understand, but it can be hard to tell if she truly comprehends or if she’s just agreeing to be nice. Jordan had been reading Foucault for school so _everything_ was power dynamics. Which…whatever; postmodernism isn’t an accurate tool to explain being in love.)

The flight to New York is unexciting, but she wouldn’t expect anything else. She’s used to it. She’s made this trip before, and it’s not about the journey, and it’s not about the destination; it’s about the young man waiting for her once she’s there.

Most of her time in Long Island is spent doing nothing with John. They play video games. They eat dinner together. He goes to practice. She reads a novel that her mother gave her for Christmas. They get woken up by an alarm that John forgot to turn off. They try to make pancakes. They eat cereal. They decide to get back in bed, but not to sleep.

Going back to masturbation after this is going to suck.

They do fall asleep again after the sex, because it had been rather athletic and napping is good. He has a game against the Rangers tonight, she has plans to watch it on tv and stay awake until he gets home.

She wakes up with her face pillowed on John’s chest. She can tell from his awkward shifting that he was probably watching her sleep, but she isn’t going to call him on it. 

She opens her eyes to blink at him. “Hey.”

He smiles. “Hey.”

“You’re sort of pretty,” she tells him. That really is the word she wants right now, looking at the angles of his messy hair in the soft light. He can handle the word; he doesn’t need to be reassured of his masculinity. She appreciates that about him.

“Thanks.” She can feel his voice rumble. “You’re awfully pretty yourself.”

Later they’re the kitchen together, trying to put together a decent dinner, and they talking about how the rest of her visit should go. She’s never seen most of the touristy things in New York City, but all she really wants to do is see John. If that just means hanging out whenever he isn’t playing hockey, she’s cool with it.

“I’m enjoying being part of your life,” she says, and is rewarded with a smile.

“I enjoy having you in my life too,” he says, then freezes. “So, um, well.”

As a rule John doesn’t mumble, which means he has something to say and she might not like it.

“Just spit it out.” It’s best to get these things over with.

“Well…I was talking to Matt about how I had a friend visiting, and he asked who, and I told him about you, kind of, and now he wants us to go on a double date with him and Alicia.”

That isn’t nearly as bad as what Sam would have imagined, but she doesn’t hold the most optimistic of viewpoints.

“Alright.”

“I said that you were a girl, and a friend, but he took it as girlfriend. I tried to say that it isn’t really like that, because it isn’t, it’s all:” John makes a wavy gesture with his hand; Sam knows exactly what he means. “But he didn’t believe me.”

“So?” They’re complicated to explain, Sam gets it. Even Facebook gets that.

“Isn’t it going to be awkward?”

“Yeah, it’s for sure going to be super super awkward, but we’ll be fine. Unless you think Matt Moulson or his wife bites?”

“No, it’ll be fine, just awkward.”

“We’re good at awkward,” Sam says. It’s true, they really are. They wouldn’t even be friends if they couldn’t handle some awkward.

“Have you ever been on a double date before?” John asks.

She nods. That had been a part of the failed attempt at having a normal college boyfriend.

“I haven’t,” John says. This doesn’t surprise her one bit. There are loads of things that John hasn’t done because he’s been too busy playing hockey and being super Canadian. (There are tons of things she hasn’t done either, without having nearly as good an excuse.)

“Let’s not worry about it, yeah?” Sam says. “Moulson’s your friend, it won’t be terrible.”

**X**

This might be the first actual date they’ve ever gone on. When they have time together they don’t go out to movies or out to dinner. They like to stay in. They’re secretly old boring people, only they aren’t old, and what they get up to while they’re at home isn’t boring.

Going out is nice. Sam hadn’t planned on dressing up on this trip, but she manages to pull together something respectable looking. She likes dressing up for John. They never do this. When they’re together it’s jeans and t-shirts and sweats and pajamas. Sam feels downright glamorous. Her clothes aren’t anything special, but she puts her hair up, struggling to make it more elegant than messy. The updo emphasises her new earrings, which were a present from John. He said he saw them and thought of her. They’re beautiful, and she likes the way they sparkle when she moves, but more than that she likes to know he thinks about her when she isn’t there.

John is in a gameday suit without a tie, collar unbuttoned loose at his neck. She kisses him against the bathroom sink, reveling in the sticky sweetness of her mouth against his for a minute before it’s gone. After a minute they separate. His hair is ruffled and she needs to reapply her lip gloss. Sam pouts at the mirror, smug over the color raised in his cheeks.

They aren’t late for dinner, barely.

The restaurant is lovely. Matt and Alicia are kind people. Sam is glad John has them looking after him while she’s far away. The food is excellent. The conversation is light and pleasant. Sam and Matt trade stories to embarrass John.

The night feels like living in a story her mother would tell. If it was told when she was a child Sam would have thought it sounded fabulous, getting to dress up, go out and stay up late. If it was told in the past few years it would have been during the part of their phone calls that she doesn’t pay attention to.

Hearing about a night like this is different than living through one. It feels like taking a tour of someone else’s life. Sam’s own isn’t so well put together. She doesn’t make reservations for dinner, not at places where there are white table clothes. She doesn’t usually have John’s arm draped across the back of her chair, warm against the back of her neck. The situation is alien but by no means unpleasant. If this is what it means to be a grown up Sam could probably get used to it. At least she’s willing to pretend it’s where she belongs.

**X**

She knows she belongs here, in John’s bed. She isn’t watching him sleep, that would be creepy. She’s just sitting in bed with her eyes open while he has his eyes closed.

It isn’t creepy, he wants her to stay. Messing around led straight into his pregame nap. She had tried to get up, but he had reached for her wrist, and she knows he would let her go, but she didn’t want pull away.

She likes watching him sleep, if that is what she’s doing. She likes watching him generally. He’s good looking, and smart on the ice, and so good to her. 

It’s hard to remember that there is a reason John doesn’t have a girlfriend. It’s so easy to forget that he’s just as much as a disaster as she is, just a hockey playing one. He dyed a dozen undershirts pink. He falls asleep on his couch because he doesn’t want to put clean sheets on his bed. He doesn’t know how to cook fish either. They’re both disasters: Alternatively, they’re both young people who still have a lot to learn. Sam isn’t sure which sounds better, but she’s leaning towards the latter.

The only reason John knows what he’s doing with his life is because he has hockey. He’s been groomed for it. If he had been left to figure things out on his own he’d be just as lost as Sam. It’s a comforting idea. Impossible to prove of course, or even consider as a sustained hypothetical; John without hockey is someone else.

(She wonders, quietly, what John would be like without her. Would he flirt with pretty girls in New York? Would he sleep with puck bunnies on the road? Would he take good care of himself? Would he talk to people outside of hockey?

She doesn’t ask who she would be without John. It doesn’t seem like a worthwhile question.)

He wakes up to her staring, but doesn’t say anything. He reaches out to touch her hand and she weaves their fingers together. She’s sitting up, knees pulled up to her chest, while he’s still sleep-sprawled against the pillows.

“When do you have to leave?” She asks, glancing at the clock on the bedside table.

“Not for a while.” His voice is still rough from disuse.

“Good.” She likes where they are; she wants to stay here for a while longer.

He seems to agree. “Very good.”

There’s something she should tell him, this moment is as good as any other.

“You remember how we said we could sleep with other people?” Sam asks. There had been a moment where they had tried to draw the borderlines of their relationship. It had happened slowly through hushed phone conversations in university libraries and hotel rooms across North America. It hadn’t been pleasant but it had left them with a usable set of expectations. 

It isn’t something they talk about. John appears surprised that she’s talking about it now.

“Well, I haven’t. Not since before graduation. I…” She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t know what it means. “I thought you should know.”

“Neither have I. Not since…” He pauses, not like he isn’t certain of the day, but like he is uncertain what to tell her. “Not for a long time.”

She doesn’t know what this means. She can’t say what she wants it to mean, because that would mean she knowing what she wants. 

**X**

Leaving isn’t easy, but it’s a familiar heartache. Sam knows what to expect. She prepares herself for reentry into real life, while trying not to dwell on what it would be like if John was her real life. Thinking like that won’t do any good. It could only make things worse.

He drives her to the airport. They kiss in the car. He offers to carry her bag inside, and she refuses. It is all so familiar.

Being home isn’t so bad. Well, work is, but she knew that. Home means more roller derby, and that’s excellent. Their next match happens the week after everybody gets back from break.

They just aren’t good enough. They should be. They have the skill to win, but it isn’t happening for them. Sam has stopped being frustrated by their losing streak. It’s gone on for too long; now she’s mostly amused. 

They’ve lost every single game. That’s not just bad, that’s exceptionally terrible. It sounds absurd. It doesn’t seem possible. It’s a statistical anomaly. And ridiculously, this outcome happened even though they’ve been trying. They’re not terrible, there have been some close calls, but it always ends with a loss.

Sam doesn’t know what they’d do if they won. They’d probably scream some and drink a lot, but that’s pretty typical following any game. Winning would be nice, but at this point Sam is impressed by, almost proud of, their losing record.

The alternative would be to feel like shit about it, and that wouldn’t be useful. She’s embracing reality, and the reality is that they lose.

Going out after the game Sam decides she’s going to get drunk. The world will look nicer if she can blur the edges.

She’s with her girls, and the music’s alright. Everyone she knows is a terrible dancer, but they’re good together. They’re as bad at dancing as roller derby, but they have fun.

By the end of the night Sam is warm and inebriated.

Ryan has her keys. “I didn’t realize you could drive. You’re exceptionally competent.” Those are hard words to say right now, but they’re the right words to describe Ryan so Sam can make it work. “ _Exceptionally competent._ ”

“And you’re exceptionally drunk,” Ryan says. She might be right. She usually is.

“Of course I’m drunk. It’s March and my boyfriend is in Long Island and we lost tonight. We lose all the nights.”

“Yeah, but we play a good game,” Ryan says.

That’s true.

“You are exceptionally competent. You’re going to have a _wonderful future._ ” Sam really believes this with all her heart. She wants to lean over and pinch Ryan’s cheeks, but that’s probably a bad idea. She isn’t feeling so coordinated, and doesn’t want to do anything that might make Ryan crash her car.

They struggle up the stairs and Sam thinks about the future. Thinking about the future is a terrible idea. It is going to happen no matter what. She’ll do the little she can to make it comfortable, but she shouldn’t dwell on it. 

Why does her life matter if she can’t even win a single bout of roller derby? Clearly she worries too much, but she doesn’t know what else she’s supposed to do. There is simply too much to worry about; the alternative to worry is not caring, and committing to apathy would be even worse. She’ll worry some more in the morning, tonight she’s going to let it all disappear in a cloud of hard liquor and high spirits.

**X**

Sam isn’t even worried about real things, she’s worried about possibilities.

She could move to New York City. She’s been thinking about this lately. Moving to New York City is something people do sometimes in their mid twenties when they don’t know what they’re doing with their lives.

Maybe-moving to New York City is way better than maybe-moving to Long Island. Moving to NYC would make her life more like _Girls_ than _the Real Housewives of Anywhere_. These are the kinds of things she’s considering. She’d make a better girl than a housewife. She’s still just a girl; she can’t be a housewife.

Her life is not like a television show, and it shouldn’t be. Her life should be just like a real life, nothing more. The question is, would moving to anywhere in New York make her very real life better than it is now?

She doesn’t know how to ask for him to come to her. It has always been her leaving her little world to visit his arena. Generally he has places to be and she doesn’t. Summer though, there could be some openings in the summer. He could come and stay in her small apartment, sleep in her double bed, have dinner waiting when she comes home from work. He could met her friends, be part of her everyday life.

He’d do it too, or at least he’d try. If she knew how to ask. If she was certain that it was what she wanted.

(She wants it so fucking much, she’s like ninety-eight percent sure he’s all she’ll want for the rest of forever, but she wants to be one hundred percent positive before she’ll ask.)

She wishes there was a way to test drive life decisions. It would be helpful to see how these choices handle on the road before making any major commitments.

If she devoted all the time spent deliberating to actually doing stuff she’d be a far more accomplished young woman.

She isn’t an insomniac, it’s just that sometimes she can’t sleep. That happens to everyone, and lately it’s been happening to her. It isn’t a serious problem; it isn’t like her job requires her full wide awake brain, and games happen on the weekend where she can get plenty of rest no matter how late her mind is keeping her up.

The blank spaces in her life have been announcing themselves lately. All the unmade plans and unfulfilled desires have decided to haunt her nights. She isn’t old enough to feel so unaccomplished. There is so much time ahead of her, clearly, but she doesn’t know what to fill it with. 

Sometimes she likes to think of life as a room, and the questions that plague her as dilemmas in interior design. The question facing her is: how to buy furniture when you’re furnishing the future.

Does her life need a big bed for John’s gangly limbs, or will the double she’s had since college do fine? Her couch is fine for friends to crash on, but it’s a little bit hideous. It wouldn’t do at all for serious entertaining, probably. (She isn’t entirely sure what serious entertaining is, but she imagines it works better when there isn’t any southwestern patterned upholstery.) She doesn’t have a dining room table. She really loves her kitchen curtains, but they don’t match anything else in the room.

She isn’t even sure where she’ll be a few years from now.

It’s like they say, _location, location, location._

It isn’t a perfect metaphor, but she’s stuck on it. It keeps her awake, hypothetical problem sets about whether she wants to live a life that would be improved by owning a matching set of dessert forks. She doesn’t know.

The healthy thing would be to relax and let things fall where they will. Healthy, but perhaps not the best. Health and happiness are not always synonymous.

She has too many abstract complications and not enough concrete problems. There isn’t anything for her to go out and fix. There aren’t enough yes or no questions. There’s too much grey.

Grey in the sky too. She can’t wait til spring, hoping that the warmer weather will encourage some new developments and personal growth. If that’s asking too much at least it will be nice out. Eventually there will be flowers.

(Does she want flowers? She doesn’t do houseplants, but she could. Does she want to have a garden? Maybe she should move somewhere where they don’t have seasons, that would get rid of at least a few dozen questions.)

Sam wishes she could be confronted by a solvable problem, but knows that isn’t how her life works.

**X**

It’s bad enough that Sam can’t figure out her own life, she doesn’t really know what to do with anyone else’s problems. She is so not qualified to handle this situation. It makes her want to find a teacher or call her mother, but she can’t, because Ryan came to her.

Ryan called and asked to come over, which is a bit unusual considering how it’s a week night, but nothing too strange. Sometimes Ryan will hang out and study when her dorm’s too loud and she gets sick of the library.

Only when Sam buzzes her up she’s shivering and her eyes are sad. Something isn’t right. Ryan admits as much, opening the conversation with: “It’s been a bad day.”

That much is obvious, but Ryan doesn’t expand upon the subject. 

Sam makes them tea and pushes Ryan to unload.

It takes a while, but Ryan does start talking. Not about anything important at first, just classes and the school dining service and the weather, nothing of consequence, but still more words than Ryan usually uses one after another.

Then Ryan stops. “So, um. You’re a little bit older than me, so you know things?”

Sam might. She can pretend. “Sure.” She feels completely unqualified. She shouldn’t be giving out advice, she _needs_ advice. She wishes she had an advisor telling her what to do all the time. It would probably get frustrating, but she likes the idea.

Ryan stares into her tea for another minute before asking; “So, what do you when people might be hitting on you, but you can’t tell?”

Sam doesn’t know. “Um.” She doesn’t date much, and when she did it was usually pretty direct, where someone goes ‘hey, you seem pretty great, want to make out?’ and proceeding from there. That had been nice. 

“Is it someone you like?”

“Maybe?” Ryan says.

“You maybe like them? There normally isn’t much uncertainty about whether you like someone or not.”

“I might like them, but it might be too complicated.”

“I’m not sure if I have anything positive to say about uncomplicated relationships.” Sam says. “If there aren’t complications of some kind I’m not sure it can be a relationship that really matters. Simple things tend to be one dimensional.”

“I don’t mean to bash complicatedness,” Ryan says. “I’m not opposed to it on principle, your point seems very valid. This is the kind of complicated where if it doesn’t work everything would suck.”

“Everything?” Sam asks.

“Everything.” Ryan seems to be completely confident in this evaluation.

“I might be more helpful if I knew some specifics?” Sam says, which might be true. There’s no way she could be less helpful.

“Um.” Ryan isn’t sharing.

“Really, I would make much more sense if I had a situation to work with. Or like, gendered pronouns. Really anything would help at this point.”

Ryan still isn’t sharing. That’s fine, she can live her own life drama and not tell Sam. They can still be friends. It’s just that Sam wants to be helpful, and she really can’t see how to do that now.

“Look, I do not know the right thing to say,” Sam says. “Not at all.” She has to own up to her failings. It’s only fair that she qualify the following advice; “I don’t know what to say, but this is what I do know: you’re going to be fine. I know you, and you’re going to get through this. I manage alright, but really, I’m a disaster. You’ll do so much better than me.”

“Do I have to?” Ryan asks weakly.

“If you want to,” Sam says. “I don’t think it would take much trying; you’re good at things. But if everything is just a disaster, it doesn’t matter. People will still love you. You’d have to actively try to get rid of friends like us.”

“Thanks?”

Sam might be trying too hard. She’s probably scaring the poor girl. 

**X**

The penultimate match of the season is quite a roller coaster. They start strong, and take the lead. They’re racking up points, they’re outmaneuvering the other team, they’re playing at the level they should be.

The other team takes a timeout, so Sam and her girls get to huddle up. Shawna is beaming at them. She gets to say, “Good job, keep it up!” She never gets to say things like this, and she seems delighted.

Taylor and Jordan grin at each other, so happy that their faces hurt Sam’s accumulated pessimism. Ryan’s smile is sweeter, less showy and more pleasant. If this happiness is what winning does to her teammates, Sam really does wish that they won all the time.

She doesn’t understand how happy she is. Her insides are warm goo. She feels so accomplished. She doesn’t know what to make of it.

She doesn’t get a chance to figure it out.

It doesn’t last.

The game isn’t over yet. Maybe the other team steps up their game, or maybe they’ve gotten complacent, but things start going the other way. They start giving up points. Sam tries to block as best she can as the pack jostles around, tries to create open space for Taylor to lap around, but it doesn’t work anymore. It works for the other team though. They’re doing great.

Their lead steadily decreases, until it has completely disappeared. They’re losing. Sam knows how this feels, the knot of disappointment in her gut. The knowledge that they can be better than this, that she can do better than this. She knows it.

But they can’t prove it. They lose by a single point.

**X**

This is, of course, the game that Tyler Seguin chooses to crash. _Apparently_ he had wanted to come earlier in the season but it never worked out because of hockey stuff, which is bullshit, because Ryan Jones had made it a couple times already. But there’s nothing keeping the Oilers away this night, so Segs is there, along with Ryan Jones, Landeskog, and the Jones’ other rookie, Jeff Petry.

After the match they had the only hockey player who Sam wants to see is John, and even that is questionable. She just wants to drink with her girls, but it isn’t to be.

Jamie and her husband are at the grown up table, but the younger Oilers mix with their derby counterparts. Sam finds herself sitting across from Tyler Seguin, trying to hurt herself rolling her eyes.

The best thing about being out with Segs is that drinks are on him. That isn’t enough to make Sam happy that he’s around, but the liquor does make him seem less annoying. Or maybe it’s how he’s so totally outclassed by her team’s banter.

Segs, who is chronically incapable of exercising good taste, asks Jordan and Taylor about their sex life.

Taylor, who likes fucking with him, says, “Ebby is very good with her hands.” She can’t quite pull off sultry, but it’s enough to make Segs leer and Petry choke on his beer.

“Oh, I’m sure she has _great_ hands.” The thing he’s doing with his eyebrows should be illegal. “I’m sure you get up to all kinds of excitement.”

Jordan doesn’t want to talk about her sex life, but does like to talk about her studies. “There has actually been a lot of debate among feminists about whether it’s correct or whatever for lesbians to be involved in sadomasochism, or if it’s even possible without replicating patriarchal power structures.”

Taylor pulls Jordan closer. Ryan turns pink. Tyler seems completely taken aback. Sam would bet that it isn’t only that he’s a bit shocked by Jordan’s frankness, he’s probably missing a vocabulary word or two. Petry looks like he’s considering ritual suicide to escape this conversation.

Sam takes pity on him and changes the subject by bullying Maggie into speaking English and sharing the rookie. Gabe is considering buying a fish next season. Segs is considering getting a puppy. Sam isn’t sure how that won’t end in disaster. She probably doesn’t give him enough credit, but whatever. He legit just started a debate with Taylor about who has a prettier wife, (much to Jordan’s dismay), so clearly it’s fair to say he’s a ridiculous dude.

The real-grown-people start leaving, citing children and spouses to return to, but Sam doesn’t have such a good excuse and finds herself dragged onto the next bar, somewhere Tyler chose. It’s the type of joint favored by young hockey pros, not roller derby players of various ages, which basically means it’s full of douche-bros.

It also means the youngsters get carded, and that’s how Sam learns Ryan’s real name. 

It isn’t something Sam’s thought about much. Ryan is her friend, Ryan is great, Ryan wants to be called Ryan.

Sam doesn’t see what happens, nobody is asking to see her ID. There’s no longer any doubt that she’s at least eighteen (and doesn’t that sting a bit). She doesn’t see what happens, but somebody shoves into someone else, things get dropped, and Segs ends up with Ryan’s drivers license.

“Bryony?” He reads. “Really? Bryony?”

Even in the poor light Sam can read Ryan’s blush. She’s quick to move, snatching back the card before picking her drink off the counter and walking off towards the booth Taylor and Jordan claimed in the back of the bar.

Sam doesn’t think much of it, shoves Segs out of her way and files the name away. Bryony. It’s not so bad, but she can see why Ryan wouldn’t want to use it.

**X**

Later into the night Ryan is more drunk than tipsy, which isn’t typical for her. Most nights she is all poise and good choices. Sam blames the round of shots Tyler bought them all. That’s why Ryan stumbles, just a little bit. Sam moves to help her, but Segs is there first. He’s far from sober too.

Watching them makes Sam feel old and responsible.

“Hi Bryony,” He says. “You’re tall, Bryony. You’re really tall for a girl.”

Ryan scowls at him. “So what if I am. Sam’s short, why does it matter.”

Sam knows she’s short, but still doesn’t like the way this conversation is headed.

“I think it’s cool that you’re tall, Bryony.” 

“I don’t care what you think, and don’t call me that,” Ryan says; Sam is so proud of her for standing up to Segs. “Sam could call me that, because Sam’s team. Taylor or Jordan could call me that because they’re...them.” Ryan says, staring Tyler down. He’s taller and stronger. It’s clear she doesn’t care at all. “You can’t. You don’t get to. You’re not team, you’re just some boy.”

Tyler backs off, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“I’m not just some boy though,” Tyler says. “At least, I don’t have to be.”

Ryan considers his offer. “Well, maybe. You’re alright at hockey, I guess. That’s something. But you’re not team.”

Segs shrugs, “True enough.”

Sam knows she’s probably smiling like a crazy person. She’s impressed. Her little rookie is acting all grown up. True, looking mature in contrast to Tyler Seguin isn’t exactly hard, but still—Ryan isn’t taking any nonsense, it’s beautiful. This is winning too, in a different, better way.

**X**

At the end of the night Sam looks for Ryan, planning to offer up her sofa as an alternative to trekking back to campus. Jordan and Taylor have gotten there first. Taylor has Ryan pressed against her side, an arm wrapped possessively around Ryan’s waist. Ebs is intent on wrapping a scarf around Ryan’s neck to protect against the stubborn spring chill. She isn’t touching them, but she might as well be. They’re all sharing the same small bubble of space.

Sam makes her way home, alone. Her apartment is empty. Her bed is cold. There’s something she’s missing, but she can’t or won’t say what it is. Fortunately sleep comes quickly. She’s too tired to feel lonely, the day’s been to exhausting to let her feel much of anything. Maybe it will be different in the morning.

**X**

After his season ends, John comes to visit. It’s just for a bit before he’s off to Worlds, but still, he’s here now, present and warm in her bed. There isn’t much space, but she still thinks she sleeps better; she feels better about sleeping.

He takes up space. His legs reach over the edge of her coffee table into the narrow space for walking. His arm reaches across the back of the sofa when they watch a movie. She’s protected, snug against his side. He’s so much bigger than her, so much taller. He can easily hold her up against her living room wall and kiss her until she’s gasping. 

The space he takes up is his for the taking. Without him it’s empty or filled with his traces. He fits into her life very well.

It reminds her of the summers they spent together as teenagers, long warm days full of nothing. Sam made him watch sixties musicals until they could sing along. She’s always admired his dedication, but even then she knew it would be good for him to have more than just hockey, and tried to be his something more. She didn’t want to date him then, but she valued their friendship. He never made her feel like she had to be something she wasn’t. He still does that; that’s what they do for each other. That hasn’t changed. They can still watch _Bye Bye Birdie_ and eat junk food together. They’re in their twenties now, and things have changed, but not too much. On some level they’re still the kids they used to be.

**X**

At practice Sam gets a reminder of why having friends isn’t always awesome; they’re intent on interfering in her life.

“We want to meet him,” Taylor says. “To make sure he’s good enough for you. And stuff.”

Sam should have seen this coming. She bets that ‘stuff’ means talking about hockey. “Do you have to?”

“Yes,” Taylor says, and Jordan is nodding in agreement, which is unfortunate. If this was just Taylor being weird Sam probably would have been able to get out of it.

Sam wants to keep all of John’s time to herself. She goes over her options, trying to figure out what she can do that would take the least time possible.

“We can all get dinner, like, a double date, or whatever.”

Taylor smiles. “Great! Tomorrow at seven alright?”

Sam wants to groan. They weren’t supposed to agree to that. They were supposed to say it sounds dumb and miserable, because it will be dumb and miserable. There’s no getting out of it now. She makes plans and resigns herself to subjecting John to her friends.

It isn’t actually a double date, because Sam and John aren’t dating, and because she invited Ryan too, because Ryan will makes thing better. And because Ryan might be on the way to being 1/3 of one of the couples, but that math doesn’t work and no one’s told Sam exactly what’s going on. She doesn’t need to know, she’d still want Ryan there. Jordan and Taylor are less intensely them when Ryan’s around, unless they’re trying to impress her. Ryan almost makes them well behaved; it’s one of her superpowers.

They’re still calling it a double date though. Sam is sticking with the name, out of a vain hope that it will seem too awkward and her friends will give up on the idea. It could happen. It won’t, but a girl can dream.

Taylor calls while Sam’s getting ready. She answers the phone hoping the younger girl is calling to cancel. She isn’t.

“I’ve never been on a double date before,” Taylor says, which makes so much sense. Sam has some suspicions about how awkward Taylor was in high school, which was very awkward. “This is going to be _terrible._ ”

“Look, you went on a date with Tyler Seguin last year. Voluntarily. This is going to be better than that, alright?” Sam isn’t sure if she’s bringing this up to be helpful, or just because that will never not be funny.

“This whole thing is really _strange,_ ” Taylor says. Sam takes a moment to marvel at how unaware she seems to be about the generally high level of strangeness in her life. “Double dates. What even.”

“Apparently it’s what grown ups do,” Sam says. “They have couple friends and go out and drink wine at dinner together.”

“Ugh. Do we have to do that?” Taylor asks. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be that old and boring.”

“No, you can drink whatever you want. You can order a Shirley Temple and I won’t make fun of you."

Taylor laughs at her. They talk for a minute longer and by the time Taylor hangs up she doesn’t seem as nervous. Sam feels really proud of herself; she can be a reasonable adult lady who makes her friends feel better about stuff. Score.

She still thinks the entire evening is going to be a wreck, but apparently she can convincingly argue that it’s going to be fine. Lying to yourself and other people is a useful adult life skill. Dinner is going to be fine. Sam will keep telling herself this until it’s over, then she can take deep breaths and survey the wreckage.

**X**

Going out is . . . _fun?_ Sam hardly believes it, but yeah, it’s fun. Apparently friends + (not)boyfriend + food + beer = fun, not disaster, or awkward.

It actually does feel like a double date, sitting next to John with the girls squeezed into the other side of the booth. Sam doesn’t miss the total un-stealth maneuvering that stuck Ryan in the middle.

They don’t talk about hockey. Not much. A bit of hockey talk is unavoidable. They’re all very Canadian.

Mostly they talk about everyday things: grocery shopping, furniture, movies. It’s like any other time Sam hangs out with her girls, only not, because she has John’s hand resting on her knee, and he’s stealing her french fries. Other than that it’s downright ordinary.

One thing that does make her pause is how their ages don’t make any sense. John is younger than Jordan, and Taylor is less than six months older than Ryan, who’s the youngest of them all. Sam is the oldest person at the table. How the fuck is Sam the oldest person at the table? She is not prepared to be in this position. They should make friends with some old people right away.

It doesn’t matter that she’s the oldest person at the table. Why would it matter? It’s just dinner with friends. It’s still fucking weird though. She doesn’t like it one bit.

That’s a lie. She loves it. If her whole life was full of evenings like this, her life would be perfect. She wants it to go on forever.

That’s why she says the next thing, even though it could ruin things. She’s hoping for permanence, trying not to get caught up in the potential consequences.

**X**

In bed that night Sam asks, “What do you think about marriage?” and immediately wants to die. “I mean…” She doesn’t know how to end that sentence.

After a pause John says, “I mostly don’t.”

“Good. I mean, me neither. I mostly don’t think about it too.” That isn’t lying. She hardly ever thinks about marriage. Whenever she does it always includes John, and she could maybe tell him that, but she won’t. “That makes sense. Because we’re both really young.”

“And we don’t live in the same city.”

“Yeah. You should have gotten drafted by the Oilers.”

“Totally.” He isn’t going to say she should move to Long Island. It seems like he’s incapable of asking for that, even when they’re joking.

“But, like, marriage isn’t the worst thing ever,” Sam says, even though it might be. “I mean, there isn’t anything wrong with commitment.” She’s been thinking about this a lot lately. “I think commitment would be alright if it was you and me?”

“Samantha Gagner, are you asking me to go steady?”

“Shut up.” She kicks him, then thinks about it. “Only yeah, I guess I am.”

John asks, “Does this mean I get to wear your pin?”

The moment dissolves into laughter and kisses.

**X**

The next week Sam gets together with Ryan to drink tea and have relationship panic. Because commitment is scary. And dating people who act like a married couple is different. Neither of them knows what they’re doing, but it’s kind of really great.

Sam hardly understands what’s going on with Ryan and Taylor and Jordan, but they all seem really happy about it. Ryan doesn’t want to talk about it, not in concrete terms anyway, but that’s hardly surprising. Ryan doesn’t want to talk about plenty of normal things, why would she want to talk about the lesbian threesome she accidentally became a part of?

It’s fine that she doesn’t want to talk, because Sam wants to talk about John. This is new. He’s hers to talk about now, and she likes how it feels. She gets to say that _John Tavares is her boyfriend, _which is fun.__

__Having something official with John has created a bubble of joy she can walk around in. Going to work sucks less now that John’s her boyfriend. Making dinner for one isn’t as depressing. Losing probably won’t hurt as much. It isn’t that her life was incomplete without him. She doesn’t _need_ a man, that would be dumb. It’s just that it’s nice to have one._ _

__**X** _ _

__They win the last match. It isn’t even close. They take the lead early and get point after point. It’s un-fucking-believable. Sam can’t understand why they don’t play like this all the time._ _

__They have by far the worst record in the league, but it isn’t all losses; it’s eight losses and one win! That one win makes everything better._ _

__They go out after the game; they always go out after the game. Most of the team gets sloppy happy drunk._ _

__“You do realize we still came in last place?” Ryan asks. She’s still happy, but she’s too much of a realist to let their one win get to her head._ _

__“Next year we’ll do better,” Taylor proclaims. She has glitter in her hair and Jordan is clinging to her side._ _

__“Next year?” Ryan asks._ _

__“Yeah, next year,” Sam agrees. She shouldn’t make promises. She doesn’t know where she’ll be next year and wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t Edmonton. Maybe she’ll seek out Vancouver’s cityscape. Maybe she’ll take the step to join John in New York. Maybe she’ll go back to her roots in Ontario. She grew up all across North America, uprooted by her Dad’s career. She’s lived in Edmonton for five years. She’s still young enough that five years is a long time. Sam doesn’t know where she’ll be next year, but she hopes it feels this good. She wants to be here next year, with her friends, winning at life._ _

__It’s easy to smile and say, “Yeah, next year we’re gonna to great.”_ _

__**EPILOGUE** _ _

__She asks John to stay with her over the summer and he says yes, like she knew he would. His visit to Edmonton drags into the fall when a new CBA fails to materialize. He’s in the crowds cheering for the first bout of the season, which they win by a single point._ _

__In November Sam still hates her job, and there still isn’t a CBA, and there isn’t any real reason why they can’t move to Switzerland indefinitely. John wants to play hockey, and he asks if she wants to come along. They’ve reached the stage of their relationship where they can ask for things like this. She can say yes, because she wants to say yes._ _

__She quits her job. It's something she should have done ages ago, because she’s hated that job. She just needed an opening and John gave it to her. She doesn't want to pay rent for an apartment she isn't living in, so they're a rush to clear her stuff out, throwing things into boxes to get piled into the Hall-Eberle garage until they can be brought to her parents in Vancouver. Her wonderful, comfortable, ugly sofa gets handed down to Ryan who left the dorms and is struggling to fill up her first apartment. Sam and her girls could have gotten it done themselves, but it’s nice to have big strong bored hockey players around to lug the thing up two flights of stairs._ _

__Leaving Edmonton isn’t easy, but it’s time. The things she will miss the most are derby and her friends. They’ll miss her too._ _

__Living in Europe is a breath of fresh air. When John has away games Sam goes to museums and thinks about what she wants to do with her life. She isn’t close to making up her mind, but she’s more excited about exploring her options than she has been in a long time._ _

__This is the most consecutive time they’ve spent together since they were kids. Sam knows how John takes his coffee now. When John proposes on Christmas Eve, Sam says yes._ _

__Less than two weeks into their engagement the players and the league finally agree to terms. John goes back to New York, and Sam goes back to Edmonton, crashing on the Hall-Eberle sofa until she can get a place of her own. The Oil Babes’ record this season is 2-2. There’s a bout on Saturday, and Sam knows that they can win._ _

**Author's Note:**

> I had felt really weird about writing het, then I realized the secondary ship is a lesbian threesome with implied kink, and I felt way better about my life choices.
> 
> Roller derby exists in Edmonton, but this story doesn’t reflect the reality of what’s happening up there. Learn more here.
> 
> Cooking fish isn’t actually that hard, but it causes me a lot of anxiety, and was exaggerated for the story’s sake.
> 
> A lot of what is said about women’s hockey was inspired by this article.
> 
> The title is inspired by lyrics from the song “Marry Me John,” by Saint Vincent. I realized about 9,000 words in that this story is basically songfic for that song.
> 
> also there's notes to a sequel that I'm never going write here: http://bestliar.dreamwidth.org/34846.html


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